Five times Dean saved Sammy's life and one time Sam saved Dean's
by ida-emilie
Summary: Sam and Dean need each other, also for little things you'd never know you needed other people for. Pre-slash Wincest
1. Little spoon, big spoon

There was a slamming of a door and the sounds of keys being turned as the motor died before he could feel hands on his shoulders, pulling him up and out of the car. "Come on Sam, I can't do this without your help," words were being shot at him, and for some reason he didn't seem to understand them.

His body felt like it was burning and his head was heavy as lead, as he let Dean lead him towards the motel room he had a vague memory of paying for a few days earlier. Dean was supporting his body weight, groaning at the heaviness that was Sam's built muscles stretched over his 6'4''.

"Sammy, sure you're keeping to your strict rabbit food diet?" the words were strained and Sam didn't recognise them replying only with a gasp at being pushed up against the outer wall of the motel, as Dean searched for the key to their room. He started sacking, his knees not able to keep him upright. "Sam, at least stand on your own two feet, how hard is that?" Dean sounded annoyed and Sam didn't know why.

When Dean had finally managed to get his younger but definitely not smaller brother thrown onto one of the beds in the motel room he sighed in exhaustion and sat down next to the large body. The fact that Sam had survived was marvellous, actually every bit a surprise to Dean as a relief. Apparently not all pagan gods were listed correctly on the wiki-site they'd found, which really wasn't a surprise. It was still an annoyance, but not really a surprise.

"We're gonna get him soon, Sammy, don't worry." He patted his brother's thigh and frowned. Sam was shaking violently and when Dean moved his hand to where he could find exposed skin it was clear he was breaking a fever.

"God I hate gods sometimes," Dean declared and went to Sam's backpack where they usually kept all sorts of medicine for when stuff went wrong. He wasn't sure whether this was a supernatural fever or a normal fever incited by supernatural stuff but he wanted to make sure it wouldn't last long.

So he gave Sam medicine and checked Dad's notes for medical mumbo jumbo (which wasn't something he'd ever taken his time to examine closely before) and did what he had to do.

When the deeds were done he knew that the best thing to help kill a fever was sleep. So naturally he waited for Sam to fall asleep.

Problem was that Sam was shaking too hard to fall asleep.

"Come on Sammy, you've got to lie still," he groaned after one and a half hour, sitting in the other bed and munching on some Chinese take-away he'd bought for himself. He couldn't remember last time Sam had been sick, turns out Winchesters have terrific immune systems, so he had no clue what to do to calm Sam down enough for him to rest well.

"I'm trying, Dean," Sam replied and wept a hand over his forehead to clean off the sweat. At least he was able to understand what Dean said again, after having been given some pills. That much was a relief at least and his entire body didn't feel like it was on fire either, so he knew he was getting better. "It's kind of hard when your body doesn't want to," he sighed. Yeah okay, he was _getting_ better, didn't mean he was better yet.

"Oh for god's sake, need me to keep you down?"

There was a moment of silence that would normally have been filled with laughter because of the joke, but with the strong need of rest eating at Sam's normal judgement and the fever still there somewhere, he just ended up replying "Could you?"

Dean glared at him, noodles hanging from his mouth and a look of _you're fucking kidding me, right?_ emerging from him. Sam just lied still (when not considering the shaking of course), eyes fixed on Dean and a plea ready on his lips.

He was surprised when he didn't have to ask again.

Dean put down the food and walked over to Sam's bed, where he sat down next to his little brother. "Don't look at me like that, you obviously need it," he huffed and lied down on his side next to Sam. "Now turn around," he ordered, and Sam did as he was told - head still dizzy from the fever.

They scooped around a bit before finally finding a satisfying way for Dean to keep Sam fixated, and Sam sighed with content when his shaking slowly decreased.

It didn't take long for Sam to get drowsy, his entire body was pleading him for rest and he felt so oddly safe with Dean's arms around him and his one leg swung over Sam's to keep them from shaking too.

"You smell of garlic," he noted and a smile crept over his face.

Dean growled and twisted a bit in his position as the big spoon. "Dude, when we wake up tomorrow you'd better fucking remember why we're lying like this, I've got no idea how to explain it to you if you don't!"

Sam promised him that he'd remember and then he fell asleep.


	2. Cry it out

Sam was sitting back on the ground, supporting his weight in his forearms leaning up from the position in which he'd landed. His chest was heaving as he tried his best not to hyperventilate and pass out right there and then.

Slowly he opened his eyes and regretted it instantly. Blood and brain mass was painting the grass a grim colour, and a horrible mess of a body was laying half on top of him. He felt bile rise in his throat and his breath hitched. It took a whole couple of seconds before he recognised another person's breathing close to him and he pushed to body off himself to turn around and face his brother.

Dean was short of breath but had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Got her, Sam," he declared and gave a shuddering little laugh as he put down the blood smeared baseball bat. Sam honestly couldn't see what was so funny. The only thing his voice (of which he was currently not in full control of) offered him was a grunt.

He turned back around to look at the dead girl (he'd had to keep telling himself that she hadn't been a girl any longer when she started attacking them) whose head Dean had just smashed in with a baseball bat. His breath started increasing violently in pace when he looked at her hair.

Those pretty blonde curls. _So like Jessica,_ he'd thought when they met her a few days ago. And then he blacked out.

When Sam woke up again he jerked into an upright position, knocking over a bowl of water on his stomach. He felt a damp cloth on his forehead and presumed that Dean had been cleaning his sweat off him while he was out cold. His sweat and... And her blood and brain.

His breath came out in short spurts again and he pulled his knees to his bare chest. In his subconscious he noted that Dean must've changed him out of his disgusting clothes and into a pair of clean pyjamas pants, and he was really just grateful for not waking up smeared in brain.

Sam's breathing must've been louder than he thought because suddenly Dean came into view from the motel room's bathroom, worry painted on his face. "Dude, you're awake," he noted and Sam would have liked to come with some sort of reply, he even tried, but for some reason his voice wouldn't obey him and all that came out was a strained sob.

Dean raised an eyebrow and was quickly by Sam's side avoiding the wet spot where Sam had spilled the waterbowl. "Sam, Sammy, what's wrong? Hey! Breathe slowly, damnit!" Dean's hands were strong on Sam's shoulders as he tried to shake Sam out of his second hyperventilation that day. Sam shook his head but tried to do what his brother wanted and forced his lungs full of air slowly.

It took a few minutes of Dean staring hard (but worriedly) at him before he got his breath back under control and he swallowed hard. He still refused to let go of his legs.

Dean's eyes were hard when Sam looked up, and he wasn't sure what to read into that. "The fuck is wrong with you, man?" asked Dean, letting his grip on Sam's shoulder tighten and loosen periodically. Sam swallowed again and closed his eyes.

For his inner view he saw Jess and his eyes started stinging.

Jess laughing.

Jess crying.

Jess on a swing ordering Sam to swing her higher.

When he opened his eyes again he could barely see out of them because of the tears ghosting his vision. He blinked the tears away yet more came welling up and he started sobbing uncontrollably. Dean's stern look got replaced by a mixture of worry and confusion. "Dude, tell me what's wrong!" he ordered, and Sam really wanted to tell him. But he couldn't find the words.

They had just killed a girl who had reminded Sam so much of Jessica that even the sight of her had hurt a bit. And they'd killed her. With a baseball bat to the head because Dean hadn't been able to find anything else - and her blood and brain had splattered all over Sam.

All he had seen was Dean killing Jess, even though he _knew_ she wasn't Jess.

Dean took Sam's face in his hands and lifted it up and away from his knees where he'd rested it. "Look at me, Sam. That girl was voodoo'ed up real bad; we couldn't have saved her," he was obviously trying to make Sam comfortable with logic. Logic was normally the thing that helped Sam the best, but this time it wouldn't be enough.

"It was... It was like a nightmare Dean," Sam sobbed, clenching his knees to his chest. Jess' voice kept mingling with the voice of the now dead girl and Sam couldn't take it. His crying became more and more violent every time he closed his eyes and saw Jess before him. Jess on the ceiling.

Dean couldn't bear the sound of his baby brother crying, never could have, but he had no clue what to do. Despise people calling Sam the genius of the two, Dean still was an intelligent young man, and it hadn't taken him long to figure out why Sam was crying. But no way in hell did he have any clue on how to make it better.

It felt awkward, putting his arms around Sam, awkward and kind of wet because Sam's tears were streaming down his face and quickly started soaking into Dean's shirt. But Dean didn't mind it, this felt like something he needed to do for his brother, so he pulled him into a hug. "I'm here Sam," he said, voice barely audible over Sam's heartbreaking sounds.

"So much like Jess," Sam said between sobs and Dean just nodded slowly and tightened their embrace. "I know, Sam, but listen to me: it wasn't Jess." He made sure Sam heard him and started patting his brown mop of hair. "She wasn't Jess and she wasn't a real girl... Not anymore at least," and it seemed that Sam finally caught on.

Dean listened to Sam's hitching voice for a long, long time - coming with little whispers every once in a while - until Sam's voice finally died out and became a slow and steady breath instead.

Dean pulled away from his now sleeping little brother and helped him lie down more comfortably. He decided then that he would never let Sam near another blond curly-haired girl again.


	3. Hit me baby one more time!

"Nothing happened, Dean!" Sam held his arms out while flashing his most perfect bitchface. "Seriously, I'm fine!" he said, giving it emphasis by running his hands over his chest and ribs to show Dean that nothing (of major importance, at least) had actually happened to him.

Dean didn't look one bit impressed. "Are you even aware how _close_ a call that was?" his voice was higher-pitched than normally and his eyes were wide with what Sam refused to acknowledge as _fright_. "There's a difference in being brave and being fucking reckless, Sam!"

"Oh, ok _really_? Jeez, Dean, I had absolutely _no clue_ about that! Where'd you learn that? Senior year in high school - oh wait! You didn't finish!" Sam was aggressively pulling the 'higher educated than you' card that he'd long since promised himself he'd never use on Dean ever again, but right now he was furious because Dean seemed to be treating him like a fucking baby.

And Sam did _not_ like to be treated like a baby.

Dean's brows furrowed even more than they already were and his neck was turning red with fury, "I learned it on the road, Sam, life is a better teacher than any of your stupid professors, let me tell you that!" his voice had dropped to the serious and deep tone that always gave Sam the chills.

It was the voice Dean normally used when he was threatened and angered, and it was most often heard before he'd stab something with a sharp knife or put a bullet to some monster's head. And now he was using it on Sam.

Which was no good sign at all.

Sam knew that he should change tactics and also his overall view on the situation, but for someone as intelligent as everyone claimed him to be, he was really nothing near clever when his head was lost. And it was so far gone right now that he wouldn't take no for an answer. "Don't get me wrong Dean, I learned plenty from being on the road! I learned how surviving doesn't matter unless _you're_ the _reason_ I survive."

And he really shouldn't have gone there, because the red colour on Dean's neck was quickly travelling up to fill his entire face like a rain gauge in a storm. "Yeah, you heard me right. It's not about me getting on, is it? It's about _you_ proving to yourself that you can protect me!"

Dean opened his mouth to reply (possibly yell more than talk) but the first thing that came out definitely weren't coherent words, or maybe it wasn't even part of the English vocabulary. "Yeah, thought as much! I'm not a child anymore, Dean!" Sam turned around and was about to pace back out of the motel room, anger fuelling him as much as it was currently fuelling Dean, when a strong hand grasped his wrist.

Turning around with a bitchface to end all bitchfaces and a "What now?" ready on his lips Sam was not ready for being tugged roughly towards one of the queen sized beds. And he didn't see it coming when he was forcefully thrown onto it either. "What the _hell_, Dean!?" he questioned, fighting to lie on his back so he could see Dean's face.

But Dean wouldn't have any of that. "You don't understand, Sammy," he growled as he sat himself down and manhandled a confused large little brother so that he was lying half over Dean's legs. "You're definitely _acting_ like you're a child, so it seems I have to _punish_ you like you're a child!"

"What do you mean?" Sam was able to finish his question before the first rush of pain showed it's ugly face and he had to gasp in air from the surprise as much as the pain. Maybe even more surprise, when you'd think about it.

Dean was... Dean was actually spanking Sam.

This was something entirely new and weird and different and - "Ah!" Sam exclaimed as the second slap fell on his ass, stinging. "Dean, cut it out!" he ordered, breath catching as the third slap followed the second at the _exact same spot_, and Jesus did it hurt.

Of course he'd been far worse off, but this was Dean hurting him.

On purpose.

And not some demon inside Dean, this was all _pure_ Dean.

"Bad little boys don't have a saying in this," Dean answered and hit Sam again.

And even though Sam was definitely stronger than Dean and could overpower him and get the fuck out until Dean cooled off he didn't. He didn't fight back when the slaps showered over his jeans-cladded ass, just sucked it up and tried his best not to let the pathetic sounds escape his mouth.

When the spanking stopped Sam could not only hear that his own breathing had increased violently in speed, but that Dean's had as well. Sam could feel Dean support himself on his elbows now placed on Sam's back, as he caught his own breath.

Sam didn't get up before Dean pushed him away.

Then he went into the bathroom and tried to put lotion on his burning buttocks, but it stung too much.

When he got out again Dean was glaring at the television like he was in one of his normal grumpy moods.

They didn't talk for the rest of evening and that night Sam had to sleep on his front.


	4. Lotion me up, big boy

Sam hissed as he entered the shower. The warm water would normally soothe his aching body after a hunt, but then again under normal circumstances his skin wasn't raw and covered in large pus-filled or even blood-filled blisters.

It was today, unfortunately. God, he found himself hating witches more and more lately.

The stream from the shower head hit his sore skin and the pain was like a constant drumming, highly unpleasant and painful with the way it absolutely embraced him. He ran his hands through his hair, cleaning himself slowly, careful not to cause himself too much pain in the process.

"You done out there yet?" Dean knocked on the bathroom door at the same time Sam turned off the water and got out of the shower. "Yeah, just give me a minute more, Dean," he answered and towelled himself with a low groan from the contact. More than once he accidentally broke the swollen and inflamed skin, causing warm shots of pain and wet spots of pus, blood and lymphatic mixed together to a gross semi-transparent colour over his skin.

"Oh god, you look awful bro," Dean said and pulled a smug grin (probably because he was really glad it wasn't _him_ who looked like that) to which Sam just grimaced. "You're such a sympathetic guy, you know that, right?"

"I'm a big brother, we don't do sympathy." Dean replied and went through the open door to the bathroom while Sam delicately sat down on one bed, cursing himself for not having a pair of silk boxers on. At least he knew they had some lotion somewhere, which he now went on a search for.

"Don't wanna go in there for the next half hour," Dean grinned as he exited the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind himself. Sam was sitting on one bed, smearing lotion onto the front of his thighs in small circles, his face strained with the pain from the contact to his blistering skin.

It looked hella painful, to be honest. "Want a beer?" Dean was already on the way over with a couple of newly bought bottles. Sam nodded and groaned when a particularly large blister broke, orangey fluid emerging from it. _Ew_, that was so gross. "Man, you're such a pussy sometimes," Sam grinned through strained lips when he saw Dean's expression. "I'm not the pussy, you are," Dean replied in time for one of Sam's rather pathetic pain induced whimpers.

The beer however agreed with Sam, somehow making the pain a little less unbearable now that he had something cool to let slide down his throat and at the same time a cool bottle to press against his skin, every once in a while. He sighed and thanked Dean.

"Look, don't mention it," the elder brother smiled, feeling sorry that it was Sam rather than him who'd taken the witch's spell. After all it _had_ been Dean who'd made her this angry. If he could do something for Sammy right now, like getting him a cold beer, then he'd darn well do it.

At least that was what he thought until Sam, a bit bashfully, asked "Look, Dean - uh, do you think you could help me out with this?" while he held up the bottle of lotion they always kept around but normally didn't have use of.

Smile turned sour and Dean found himself answering "No can do,"

"Aw come on, man, I can't reach my back myself!"

"I'll do many things for you, Sam, even sell my soul to hell, but I'm _not_ lotioning you up!"

Well, it was true that when he said it like that it sounded rather disgusting and Sam flinched a bit. But the flinch itself was uncomfortable enough to his skin that he decided he really needed Dean to help him with his back. So he decided to pull the guilt card, whining about the pain and about how Dean should've been the target of that witch, since it _was_ him who'd slept with her before they found out it was her and hadn't called her the next day.

And it worked. Dean was sitting next to Sam on the bed, Sam lying on his stomach on a large amount of towels, the muscles of his back stretched out.

His skin was different shades of unhealthy colours and Dean had to keep reminding himself that this condition would be over in a few days according to Bobby. Because this was definitely not something he looked forward to doing again.

He popped open the lotion bottle and let a generous amount of cool white liquid fall into his hand. God, this was going to be so disgusting, every blister or bladder looked like it was about to burst.

Dean closed his eyes and dug in, spreading the lotion quickly on his brother's back with large clumsy strokes. "Oh god Sammy, please don't ever get hexed like this again," he groaned, opening his eyes just a bit to figure out how much he'd put on and where he still missed a spot.

"Oh, don't assume I'm enjoying it," Sam replied with a content sigh drawn from the coolness spreading on his back as Dean started drawing small cautious circles on his back to spread the lotion better.

The two of them kept their positions for what felt like eternity, Dean unconsciously leaning into the gentle massage he was giving Sam. The way his hands slid over the blisters without bursting them, the way he could feel every muscle underneath and the knots from hard work, it was all oddly hypnotising, and he felt himself grow more and more relaxed.

"That feel good, Sammy?" he asked after a particularly content sigh as he ran his hands over Sam's shoulders, but there was no reply. "Sam?"

Sometime during the lotion session Sam must've fallen asleep and Dean couldn't really blame him. So with a smile he got up from Sam's bed and went over to his own.

"Totally not assuming you're enjoying it," he said before going to sleep.


End file.
